


3 + 1 isn't quite 5 (but it's close)

by ObscureReference



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty thinks Jack is pretty hot tho, Canon Drug Use mentioned, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mostly Gen, Overdosing, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureReference/pseuds/ObscureReference
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three worlds Jack and Bitty don't meet and the one time they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 + 1 isn't quite 5 (but it's close)

1.

The train station was crowded, and Eric dodged through the small gaps between people as best he could with the box of pastries in his hands. He was so lucky to have snagged this job interview and he was going to ruin it all by being late. Why had he thought pre-baking food would be a good idea? If they wanted him to bake something, they would have just told him to use the kitchen in the store. Eric thought he was a pretty good baker, but it wasn't as though the owners of one of the most popular bakeries in New York would be impressed by what he whipped together in his kitchen this morning.

But it was too late to go back on his decision and now he was going to be _late._

"Sorry!" He shouted behind him, scrambling between the crowd. Why did the stairs have to be so far from the train platform? He still had another four blocks to go. "Sorry! Excuse me! Excuse— Oh!"

He ran in to something solid and large and the box holding Eric's apple strudel flew right out of his hands. Eric himself landed on the New York train station floor and, oh _no_ , how disgusting, he was sure to have stains everywhere now—

Eric righted himself quickly and shot to his feet. There wasn't much he could do about the nasty station floor until he found a restroom. And none of that would matter if he didn't get to _What You Knead_ in the next five minutes. The man he had bumped in to was holding Eric's box and he stared at Eric like he couldn't fathom what had just happened.

"I'm so sorry!" Eric gasped, brushing the dirt off the front of his slacks. His southern hospitality and the voice inside his head screaming, _YOU DON'T HAVE TIME!_ were at odds. "Hi, I'm Eric Bittle, and I'm really sorry for running in to you and normally I'd stick around more, but I'm in a really big hurry."

The man, Eric noted, looked to be around a few years older than him and Lord, he was handsome. Were all New Yorkers like this? Eric had only moved in a few days ago, but this man's eyes were so blue he almost wanted to drown in them.

The stranger said nothing as Eric took the box from his waiting hands. Their fingers brushed as he did so, and Eric felt a jolt run though his skin.

"Thank you for catching this," Eric said. God, he was lucky it hadn't fallen on the floor like he had. At least his morning baking wouldn't be all for nothing now.

The stranger's mouth quirked up in to half a smile.  "No problem."

Even his voice was sweet. Soft, despite the deep tone. He had an accent. French, maybe. For a moment, Eric almost forgot what he was doing and he couldn't help but smile back.

Then he caught sight of his watch.

"Oh, heavens to Betsy!" Eric cried, gripping the box tighter. He had four minutes until he was officially late. He shot around the (very handsome) stranger as a brief gap opened up behind him. As he ran, he threw over his shoulder, "I'm really sorry!"

If the man waved or said anything at all, Eric turned back so fast he didn't catch it. The stairs leading up to the street were icy and it wouldn't do to have another accident on the way. He doubted he'd be so lucky as to run into another handsome stranger who just so happened to catch his cooking before it fell and didn't scream at Eric for being rude like a few other New Yorkers already had in the past few days.

He was almost a little sad to have to run off so quickly, even if it had been his fault for running in the first place. The man had seemed kind, or at least shy in a way that was charming. And he'd been _very_ handsome. It would be quite a while before Eric forgot a face like that. One of the reasons he had moved to New York City was because of all the successful culinary opportunities it held. The other had been, well... New York was very diverse, that was all he was saying.

But no matter. His love life could come later. NYC was a big place. There would be other beautiful men Eric could make a better impression with than slamming in to them on the subway.

And he _really_ needed this job.

 

2.

High school was a lot different than middle school, if what Eric had seen on TV was anything close to reality. He'd start his freshman year in under a month. Eric wished this summer would go on forever.

He clicked on another news article and tried not to think about it, curling up a little more in his desk chair. He was different. Eric was too excitable, had the wrong hobbies, sang the wrong music, played the wrong sports. Wrong for a teenage boy, anyway. He knew it, his parents knew it, and everybody he met knew it too.

Eric was pretty sure he was different in another way too. But he didn't want to think about that.

Two years ago, the football team had locked him in a utility closet overnight. He didn't want to think about what it would be like surrounded by people who actually had the ability to drive and do much worse.

Another headline caught his eye. He stopped jumping from tab to tab long enough to read it.

_Jack Zimmermann Overdose_ , the title read. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but it didn't exactly ring a bell. Eric skimmed the article.

_Jack Zimmermann, son of the famous hockey star "Bad" Bob Zimmermann and his actress/model wife, Alicia Zimmermann, died of an apparent overdose yesterday night. Though his parents have refused to comment on the situation, sources say Zimmermann had a history of anxiety and was most likely taking medication for it. Whether or not he was previously abusing these drugs or if it was an intentional suicide is unknown...._

Eric skipped farther down.

_Kent Parson, one of Zimmermann's close friends and teammates, also refused to comment. However, he was overheard saying, "I thought [Zimmermann] was getting better. I thought [unintelligible]."_

_It has not yet been confirmed that..._

The article went on like that for a few more paragraphs, but Eric didn't bother to read the rest. It felt like every other week there was a new story in the news about one celebrity or another who couldn't keep up with the pressure placed on them, for one reason or another. It made Eric's stomach twist in to knots thinking about it. He felt bad, even though he'd never met the guy.

Eric clicked on to the music tab he had pulled up, letting the most recent Top 40's playlist wash away the bad taste in his mouth.

His mind drifted back to the article, despite Eric's will and Rihanna's powerful voice trying to keep such thoughts at bay. But the overdose wasn't what his brain caught on to. It was another word.

_Hockey_ , he thought. It was another ice sport. Certainly "manlier" than figure skating, his father might say. Even if he didn't plan on quitting figure skating just yet, it was something to consider, at least.

 

3.

Eric had been figure skating for _years._ Since elementary school, practically. He'd skated in front of his family, his coaches, judges, audiences small and large.

Well. He'd never skated for an audience _this_ large.

Eric didn't regret committing to figure skating and going pro. Hell, he was damn lucky to be here. He'd worked his tail off to get to this point and not everybody got the chance to do a pre-game show for the Las Vegas Aces, broadcasted on _live TV_ for _millions_ to see.

But, boy, that sure was a lot of people he had to impress.

Eric tipped his head around the corner, trying to catch a glimpse of a few of the many, many strangers he wanted to look go for tonight. If he did well enough, he'd be noticed by someone who wanted to sponsor him, maybe. He really, really wanted to look good.

"You nervous?"

Eric jumped and spun around. Some blond guy had snuck up on him while he hadn't been paying attention. One of the hockey players, by the look of his outfit.

Eric regained his composure fast enough. "Of course not!"

It came out too fast, too high-pitched to be true. Eric wanted to crawl in to a hole. The guy just laughed.

"You're the pre-game show, right? Figure skating?" He asked. Eric nodded. "You'll do fine, man. I know for a fact the rink producers wouldn't have picked you if you weren't good at what you do. Is this your first show or something?"

Eric couldn't help but look at his feet. The fact he was acting so nervous that this guy thought it was his first show was embarrassing.

"I've done shows before," he said. "It's just..."

The blond guy squeezed his shoulder in a friendly way. "We've all been there. You'll do just fine."

"Thanks," Eric said. Even if he didn't know the guy, it was marginally reassuring to have somebody other than himself believe in him.  

"Kent!"

Someone else was coming. Somebody who knew the blond guy, at least, though it looked rather doubtful they were on friendly terms. The guy who called for Kent was tall and handsome, but his face was frowning so hard it might have been stuck that way.

"Kent," the guy said again once he was close enough. He didn't spare Eric a glance. "We're having a team meeting in two minutes. You know better than that."

Kent shrugged. He didn't seem too bothered by the scolding he was getting. "Don't worry about it, Zimms. I know what I'm doing."

Zimms raised an eyebrow. "That's doubtful."

Eric shifted. He wondered if he should just sneak away while he had the chance, or if that would be too rude. He thought maybe he was short enough to get away with it if he really tried.

The movement must have caught Zimms' eye, and he looked at Eric for the first time. He didn't say anything, just nodded in Eric's general direction before jerking his head back in a "follow me" motion turning heel.

Kent winked at Eric. "That's my cue. But you'll do fine, bro. Don't sweat it."

"Thanks," Eric repeated.

"Kenny," Zimms called behind him. "Hurry up."

Kent (or was it Kenny?) flashed another smile and tailed after Zimms. They disappeared around a corner and Eric was alone in the hallway once again.

Eric swallowed, glancing back at the entrance to the rink. He would be fine. He would go backstage, put on his skates and nail the show. It was going to be the best pre-game show Las Vegas had ever had. He'd make sure of it.

(Eric didn't see either Kent or Zimms again that night.)

 (But he did nail it.)

 

\+ 1.

So this was Samwell. He'd made it.

The rink was huge. It was the biggest Eric had ever played in. _Would_ play in, as soon as his first practice actually started. Speaking of which, he really should be paying more attention.

The coaches were still speaking. Eric caught the last of their speech.

"...And that's the general outline for the schedule so far," one of the coaches said. He gestured to someone behind him. "And this is your captain, Jack Zimmermann. When I'm not around, you listen to him, got it?"

Several other freshman piped up that they did in fact "got it." The captain nodded at them, then cleared his throat.

"Hello," The captain— Jack— said. "I'm your captain. It's nice to meet you."

There was a brief pause where nobody spoke, and then Jack added, "Don't cheat on your diets."

Eric bit the inside of his cheek. Obviously the captain wasn't much of a speech giver. But if that was the worst he had to worry about, he was pretty sure he could make it.  

"If you have any questions, you can ask me," Jack added, which seemed like unusually nice for someone making such a face. But then again, Eric had just met the guy. Maybe he was being a little harsh.

Jack stepped back, indicating he was done. The coaches nodded.

"Okay," Coach Murray said. "Now let's get on the ice."

Eric sucked in a breath. Okay. He could do this.

He brushed by the captain on his way onto the ice. Jack barely glanced at him before skating past.

Well. They'd have time to get to know each other better later.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack is 5 years older than Bitty. If he's about 18 when he has his overdose (bc he played in junior hockey from 16-18 and didn't enroll in Samwell until he was 21), that would make Bitty about 13 at the time. Maybe 14. I think I did the math there right, but somebody correct me if I'm wrong. 
> 
> My tumblr is http://someobscurereference.tumblr.com/
> 
> Hit me up there or leave a comment here!


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